


Jailbreak

by rockmusicplays



Series: Avengers 3.0 [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: And so is Steve, Angst, Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Spoilers, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Mild Language, Missing Scene, Post-Credits Continuaton, Steve's friends are brats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-06-07 23:39:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6830083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rockmusicplays/pseuds/rockmusicplays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Steve busts Team Cap out of General Ross' super villain prison - with a little help, of course - they head off to relax and regroup.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The promised follow up to [Cap's Reinforcements](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6824032)
> 
> Unbeta'd.

As had become habit in the five weeks he'd been here, Clint feigned sleep at the sound of the cell block door sliding open. He'd run out of patience with the facility's staff about an hour after he'd been dumped into a cell alongside Wanda, Sam, and Scott. It said a lot about how truly pissed off he was that he got no pleasure out of sassing the guards.

Despite Tony's dig about Clint abandoning his family, none of that anger was directed at himself. Did he miss Laura and the kids? Absolutely. Every single day he wished he was home with them. But knowing what would happen and where he would end up, he'd still make the same choice. More importantly, he knew Laura would still back that choice. He hadn't chosen the wrong side. The fact that losing had landed him in this hellhole proved that.

Tony had breezed out of here acting like he wanted to mend fences, and that had been the last they'd seen of him, or any of their so-called friends. Not even Nat had bothered to check up on them. That hurt more than Clint cared to admit. He knew how hard she'd been fighting to stay on the straight and narrow, but he never thought her need to prove herself would be more important to her than their friendship.

He tracked the sound of footsteps passing his cell and frowned. It was hard to judge the passage of time with no clock and no natural light, but Clint was certain it was too early for this to be a meal delivery. And if it was, the guard would have stopped at his cell first, not moved past it. Something was up.

"Took you long enough," said Sam. Clint cracked an eye open, tilting his head back against his pillow to try and get a look at whoever was standing outside of Sam's cell. In the glow from Sam's light, he could just make out a familiar set of broad shoulders.

"Aww, did you miss me?" Cap teased.

There was a thud and a grunt from the adjacent cell, followed by Scott's excited "Captain? Is that you?"

"It's me," Cap replied. "You guys ready to get out of here?"

"Oh, yes please!" said Scott, slapping his palms against the glass.

Clint got to his feet, leaning casually against the back wall. A loud beep echoed through the circular room, and a few seconds later he heard Sam's door pop open with a clank. 

_Beep. Hiss. Clank._

_Beep. Hiss. Clank._

And then Sam was standing in front of his door, Scott at his side.

_Beep. Hiss. Clank._

Stepping out of the cell, Clint clapped a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Thanks, man."

"No problem."

Across the room, Cap and Wanda were both standing in her cell. Cap was helping her out of the straightjacket Ross' men had forced her into. The moment her arms were free, she threw them around Cap's neck. He returned the embrace, rubbing her back as she sobbed against his chest.

Beside him, Scott shifted uncomfortably, like he wanted to help but didn't know how to. Sam looked like he wanted to punch something. Clint could sympathize. If he'd been furious before, it was nothing compared to how he felt now, watching Wanda struggle to pull herself together long enough for Cap to guide her out into the main room.

When they reached the three men, Clint held his hand out towards her, and she immediately tucked herself against his side. 

Cap's face was carefully blank, but his voice wavered when he spoke. "I came as soon as I could. This place…." he paused, shaking his head. "Running in here with half a plan would have screwed all of you. I couldn't take that chance. I've caused you too much pain already."

"Man, I'm just glad you're alright," Sam said. "Bad as this place is, at least we're alive and in one piece."

"Sam's right," Scott piped up. "The fact that you're here at all is much appreciated. It's a big risk you're taking."

"If I'm remembering my history classes right, elaborate one-man rescue missions are kind of Cap's shtick," Clint joked, gently bumping Wanda with his hip and earning a soft giggle from her in response.

Cap rolled his eyes. "You storm one lousy Hydra compound and no one ever lets you forget it."

"Speaking of, where's your sidekick?" Sam asked.

The amusement in his expression promptly vanished. "Not here. He, uh. He got a little banged up in Siberia."

"Wait. So, you actually busted in here on your own?" Scott's eyes widened incredulously.

"Hardly." 

The five of them turned towards the cell block door. Standing in the hallway was the last person Clint expected to see. "Agent Carter?"

"Agent Barton," she smirked.

"Didn't you hear? I'm retired," Clint replied with a smirk of his own.

"What a coincidence. So am I." Sharon turned her gaze to Cap. "Natasha found their gear. She could use a hand."

"I believe that's our cue to get out of here," Cap said, heading towards the door. 

The four jailbirds trailed after him, watching as he fell into step beside Sharon. Sam grinned, shaking his head. Clint shot him a questioning glance, and Sam inclined his head towards the pair and made a kissy face. Scott let out a snort of laughter, earning him a confused look from both of the rescuers.

Scott quickly schooled his features into a neutral expression, but that mischievous glint Clint had come to associate with their newest recruit was back in his eyes. More importantly, Wanda was smiling, not a tear to be seen. Cap gave Sam a dirty look, which only made Sam grin wider. 

The group had to pass through a control room to reach the elevators, stepping over and around the unconscious bodies of The Raft's security personnel. Sharon punched in the floor code, bringing them up to the second sublevel. Nat was waiting for them with a trolley stacked with large steel boxes.

"Fellas," she said by way of greeting. "Wanda," she added, lips quirking up in a tiny half-smile. Clint could tell by her too-relaxed stance that she was nervous. He supposed she had a right to be. After all, she'd played a part in putting them in here.

Even as he thought it, Clint knew he didn't blame her. In fact, he wasn't even surprised to see her here. It wasn't that he expected that she was going to turn on Tony. He knew her better than that. If she was here with Cap, it was because she'd realized that signing the Accords was going to require her to make the kind of compromises Clint knew she wouldn't be able to live with. Like leaving her friends to languish in an off the books super-max penitentiary.

Clint walked right up to Nat and enveloped her in a crushing bear hug, lifting her off of the ground. She made a sound of protest, squirming in his grasp. Clint gave her one last squeeze and set her down. Nat narrowed her eyes at him in what he figured was meant to be a threatening look, but the way she was pursing her lips to keep from smiling ruined the effect.

Sam immediately stepped forward and tried to do the same, and got a hard smack to the arm for his trouble.

"Alright, that's enough," Cap said, with fond exasperation. "We need to get out of here."

Nat brushed past Sam and grabbed hold of the top box, setting it on the ground. She flipped the lid open to reveal Clint's quiver. Cap was already pulling down the next box, which turned out to be Scott's. Clint put the quiver on, forgetting for a minute that his bow was trashed. The broken halves weren't here, but his uniform was. He tucked it under his arm and headed back to the elevator.

Once everyone was inside, Sharon brought them up to the top level, where a helicopter was waiting. It was a tight fit with seven of them, but by the time they got themselves squeezed in, Cap already had the rotors going. Sharon was in the co-pilot seat, tapping away at a tablet. The ceiling began to open with a metallic groan, the floor rising up beneath them.

Just like that, they were free.

Scott whooped in triumph, clapping his hands. Wanda and Sharon both laughed.

"So what's the plan now, Cap?" Sam asked. He and Scott were sitting on the floor with their backs against the seats, while Clint was squished in between Wanda and Nat on the bench.

"We disappear," he replied, adopting his Captain America voice. "I know that's not the answer some of you were hoping for, but it's our only option if you want to avoid ending up back in a cell."

"To be honest, that's kind of what I expected," Scott sighed. "Rule one of being a fugitive is don't go home."

Cap turned in his seat to look down at Scott, who was staring at his hands, mouth pressed into a grim line. Cap caught Clint's eye, looking apologetic before returning his attention to the controls. Clint knew he should be more upset about that than he was, but he'd been expecting that answer, too. He'd known when Tony had admitted in that flippant way of his that he had no idea what Ross was going to do to them that if he ever got out of that cell, it wouldn't be because they'd let him out.

One way or another, Clint wouldn’t be seeing his kids any time soon.

"It's not like Cassie isn't used to me not being around," Scott said quietly, pulling his knees up to his chest. "And at least this time she might actually be proud of me for it."

"Who's Cassie?" Wanda asked gently.

"My daughter."

Clint felt his chest tighten in sympathy. "I didn't know you were a father," he said.

"Yeah, well, I guess I don't really come across as the responsible type," Scott replied with a wry smile. "Probably because I'm not. In fact, she's pretty much the only thing I've ever done right my whole life."

"I know that feeling," Clint said. Scott perked up a little at that.

"You have kids?" He didn't sound surprised, exactly. Something close to it.

"Three of 'em. Cooper, Lila, and Nate." It felt strange, saying it out loud. Clint was so used to keeping that part of his life private.

"Married?" Scott asked.

"Laura," Clint said fondly. "You?"

"Nah," Scott said dismissively. "Maggie's smarter than that. We split up a long time ago. She's been living with an SFPD detective for a couple years now. Engaged, actually. He's a good guy. He'd do anything to keep Cassie safe."

Beside him, Nat squirmed guiltily. Clint's heart sank. With SHIELD gone and both of them on the run, Laura was on her own. She was smart and tough, more than capable of handling herself and protecting their kids. But Laura wasn't like them. She was a civilian. Which is why Clint had made Nat promise that if it ever came to that, she'd look after his family.

"Maria should already be at the farm by now," Nat told him.

"Wait, what?" Clink blinked, confused. "Maria?"

"She would have heard weeks ago that we were both MIA," Nat explained.

"Since when does Maria even know about the farm? Or them for that matter?" Clint demanded.

"Since Lila was born."

"Why is this the first I'm hearing about it?"

Nat sighed. "Laura's a smart girl. She knew as well as I did - as you _should_ have - that if you were ever in that kind of trouble, more than likely I'd be right there with you. So we made Maria Plan B." 

"As far as Plan B's go, she's a pretty good one," Clint grudgingly admitted. Maria Hill had been Fury's right hand for a reason. "But you still should have told me."

"Laura asked me not to." Nat shrugged. "Guess she didn't want you worrying about it."

"So, Cap," Clint said, shifting the subject to something a little less personal. "You got any suggestions of where we should disappear to?"

"That's up to you. All of you," Cap replied. "After everything you've done, I can't - I _won't_ \- ask anything more from any one of you." He paused, looking pointedly at Sharon. "As far as I'm concerned, everyone here is an Avenger. If we stick together, we can protect each other. And we might even be able to do some good out in the world while we're at it. If you want to walk away, I'll do everything I can to help you do that. Choice is yours."

No one spoke for a long moment, each of them weighing their options. It was Scott who broke the silence.

"I'm sure as fuck not gonna pass up the chance to be an Avenger."

Cap huffed out a surprised laugh. "Well alright then. Welcome to the team."

"Thanks, Cap," Scott grinned, a little of his usual energy returning.

"You know I'm in," Sam said, reaching back to bump his fist against Cap's leg.

"I'm clearly not built for retirement," Clint said dryly. "So count me in."

"And someone needs to keep you boys out of trouble," Nat quipped. Sam made an offended sound, and Scott snickered.

Wanda dropped her head onto Clint's shoulder. "I don't see how I could even consider leaving my family." Clint pressed a quick kiss against her hair, pointedly ignoring the amused look Nat was giving him. Yeah, he had a thing about taking in strays. Everyone is entitled to a soft spot or two. There was no need for her to be so damn smug about it, considering she'd been one of those strays once.

"What about you?" Cap glanced over at Sharon, looking almost nervous.

"You already know my answer," Sharon replied, leaning forward to pull him in for a kiss. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Hey, don't be distracting the pilot!" Sam teased. Cap blushed, and Sharon grinned, looking very pleased with herself.

"Well, I guess that's that," Nat said.

"Do we have a super secret base all picked out?" asked Scott.

"At the moment, all we have is a safe house," Cap told them. "It used to be one of Fury's personal safe houses. Completely off SHIELD's radar."

"That mean we're headed back stateside?" asked Sam.

"France, actually," said Cap. "Marseille. Right on the coast."

Scott whistled appreciatively. "Sounds swanky."

"Guess we'll find out," Cap replied.

"You mean you haven't been there yet?" Wanda frowned, confused. "Then where were you all this time?"

"I'm more surprised you let Barnes head out there on his own," Sam said.

Nat made a small, unhappy sound. Sam's face fell.

"He's uh, he's alright, isn't he?" Sam asked warily, twisting around to look up at Cap, who was staring resolutely out the windscreen.

"Buck's not in France. He's alive, but he won't be coming with us." Cap sounded so dejected it made something in Clint's chest ache. Poor guy just could not catch a break. The team lapsed into an uncomfortable silence, no one wanting to be the person who asked the next painful question.

Finally, Nat spoke. "Barnes decided to go back into cryo for the time being. Until the programming Hydra installed in his head can be removed, there's too much of a risk something like what happened in Berlin could happen again. Or something even worse."

"So you left him in Siberia?" Clint asked, shocked.

"Of course not," Cap snapped angrily. "He's in Wakanda."

"Okay, how the hell is that any better?" Sam shot back.

"T'Challa followed Tony to Siberia. He heard Zemo admit to everything," Sharon explained. "When he realized he'd made a huge mistake, he helped Steve and Bucky get away. He's looking after Bucky while his scientists try to figure out a way to deprogram him."

"When you say 'get away'…" Sam trailed off, letting his head thump against the back of Cap's seat. "You mean get away from Tony, don't you?" No response from the rescue squad. "Shit. Steve, I'm sorry. I honestly thought he wanted to help. I never would have told him if I thought he was going to fuck you over."

"It's not your fault Sam," Cap insisted, sounding exhausted. "He really did want to help, until…"

"Until?" Clint prompted.

"Let's just say Zemo's endgame wasn't what we thought it was, and leave it at that for now," Nat said in a tone that brokered no argument. The team fell silent once more, and stayed silent until they reached the safe house.

It was, in fact, swanky. After dropping the helicopter at a private airstrip and piling into a waiting SUV, the Avengers found themselves in the foyer of a very old French manor. Five bedrooms, three baths, and a huge, sun drenched kitchen. It was hardly suitable as a base of operations for a team of rogue superheroes, but it was a very comfortable place for a group of friends to lay low for a while.

There was a mad scramble while everyone tried to secure themselves a bedroom. Everyone wanted the top floor master suite, since it was the only bedroom with a private bathroom. Sharon ended that particular argument very quickly by declaring loudly that since it was also the only room with a queen sized bed, it was going to the only people in the house who were currently having sex. 

Cap instantly turned a violent shade of red and retreated to the room in question, refusing to come out until Sam and Nat stopped yelling inappropriate comments at him from the other side of the locked door. Sharon was sitting on the floor, laughing so hard there were tears rolling down her cheeks. 

This started a new argument, because now no one wanted the room next to theirs. As Scott so helpfully pointed out, no one wanted to listen to Captain America having sex. Wanda snuck away and claimed the lone ground floor room. Eventually, Sam got stuck with the neighboring room. Nat and Scott bolted to the second floor, Clint on their heels, to fight for the last free single room. 

Clint figured he'd crash with Nat. It would hardly be the first time. Much to Clint's dismay, it turned out the double room was actually Sam's room. The person most upset about this development was Cap.

"Great. Now both the smartasses are next-door," he groaned.

"Don't worry about me, Cap. I can sleep through anything," Clint assured him, grinning when Cap flushed pink again.

"Alright, enough," Sharon said sternly. "You keep teasing him like that, there won't be any sex happening in this house. And if that happens, I'll hand both of you over to Stark myself."

" _Sharon_." Cap looked like he wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or cry.

"Damn, Cap," Sam chuckled. "That is a serious threat she just threw out there. What have you two been gettin' up to?"

"You know what…" Cap took a menacing step forward. Sam threw up his hands in surrender, almost knocking Clint over in his rush to get inside their room. Clint stumbled in after him, slamming the door shut. They took one look at each other and started cracking up all over again.

After everything that had happened, it felt really good to laugh like that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRY YOU GUYS.
> 
> Life happened, so for much longer than I would have liked, writing did not. But look! New chapter! And there's another one coming!

The place had been a little dusty when they first arrived, but the fridge and pantry were stocked, and there were clothes and toiletries stacked on the kitchen counters. Steve half-expected Fury to be lurking in one of the rooms, but there was no sign of him, or anyone else. Whoever had dropped off the supplies was long gone.

Clint found the wine cellar within an hour of their arrival. He'd come sauntering into the kitchen with an armload of bottles while Wanda and Sam were making dinner and proceeded to load them into the fridge. When Steve suggested that drinking all of Fury's booze was probably not a great idea, Natasha had waved him off. _He only drinks red. As long as we stick to white, we’re safe._

Natasha had helped him pull down the chairs and wipe down the dining room table while Clint made salad and Sharon and Scott washed all of the dishes and utensils they'd need for that night. The rest of the kitchen - and the rest of the house - was a project for another day.

Sam had made alfredo with chicken and mushrooms, and garlic bread. _Fast but fancy,_ he said. A welcome change from prison food, no doubt. The team had dug in eagerly, barely saying ten words between the seven of them until their plates were empty and shoved aside in favor a second glass of wine.

_"So… who's Zemo?"_ asked Scott. 

Steve told them everything. Who he was, why he'd come after Bucky, what had happened to Howard and Maria Stark, and what Tony had done to Bucky. Natasha took over from there, explaining how she had tracked down Sharon and gone to Wakanda on a hunch after Zemo's arrest made the news. And that brought them all here. Fugitives from the law, and from their friends. 

Clint opened yet another bottle of wine, seemingly taking it upon himself to lift the mood. _"All things considered, we could be doing a lot worse,"_ he said, leaning across Wanda to top up Natasha's outstretched glass. _"Nobody's dead. Barnes is someplace safe. The bad guy is locked up. And while we're out in the cold, a few thousand miles from where we'd like to be, we're all in one piece. And we're together."_

_"Man, I'll drink to that,"_ said Sam, raising his glass.

_"I think we can all drink to that, ___" Sharon agreed, raising her own glass. _"To friends, old and new."_

_"To making the right choice when it would be easier not to,"_ said Clint.

_"To starting over,"_ said Wanda, sad but hopeful.

Natasha paused for a long moment, rolling the stem of her wineglass between her fingers. _"To Steve finally calling that nurse. We wouldn't be here without her."_

_"Nurse?"_ asked Scott.

_"Nurse,"_ replied Sam, pointing at Sharon. Steve huffed. Sharon laughed.

_"Sure. Uh…"_ Scott trailed off, looking thoughtful. _"To the people we wish we could be with, and the people we wish could be here."_

Sam drummed his fingers against the table top and sighed. _"To the people who will never be with us again."_

Steve hadn't been sure what he was going to say. He hadn't been sure of much in recent weeks. How his teammates would react when he got to The Raft. How many of them would stay. What would happen when they reached the safe house. He'd braced himself for disappointment, but here they were.

He'd said that the Avengers were Tony's family. Something he'd built because he needed it. But they'd all needed it. Steve had needed it. The only place he'd ever seemed to fit was with Bucky, in the space he'd carved out for him. And he was slowly starting to realize that there were other people making space for him, too. There were other places he could fit if he'd let himself. These people still trusted him, after everything he'd put them through. And just maybe, he'd get the chance to make things right. 

_"To the bridges we've burned. May they one day be rebuilt. To the Avengers."_

~ ~ ~

The Marseille safe house was working out even better than Steve hoped it would. It was a bit of an adjustment at first, especially for Sharon and Scott, who were mostly strangers to the rest of the group and weren't used to cohabitating with their team members the way the rest of them were. And the safe house was much smaller than the sprawling Avengers compound, not affording much in the way of space or privacy by comparison.

Fury had clearly chosen the house based on its location, miles from the nearest neighbor and as far removed from the city as possible. It really was ideal. Especially since had Fury not offered it to the team, Steve had no idea where they'd be right now. He was like a cranky, one-eyed guardian angel, never revealing himself, but using his influence to help protect Steve and the people he cared about.

Save for the kitchen appliances, nothing in the place seemed to have been updated since the 1920's, including the wrought iron patio set in the back garden that reminded Steve of the little café Dernier had dragged the Commandos to on one of their rare down days in '44.

The garden wasn't really much of a garden. A half-dozen rose bushes were scattered around the perimeter with stretches of wildflowers and weeds in between. A small pond took up most of the back left corner. Cracked paving stones sat against the house, curving out into the grass in a semi-circle. A low hedge bordered the stones, with a narrow gap opening in the direction of the pond. 

A set of double doors led from the garden into the kitchen. There was a formal dining room to one side, and Wanda's room and the smaller of the two bathrooms was on the other. It was technically servant's quarters, but that didn't bother Wanda. She liked the view of the garden from her window, and the small amount of personal space being the only one on the ground floor provided her. The dining room connected to the den, which opened into the foyer.

The second floor had an office and a small library in addition to the bedrooms and bathroom. The third floor had a home gym. Nothing fancy, just a treadmill, some free weights, and a punching bag. 

The group fell into a comfortable routine, and before Steve knew it, the place started to feel like home. 

Natasha, Sharon, and Sam were early risers, up with the sun to go for a run along the shoreline. Sometimes Steve would join them, but he found he preferred to convince Sharon to stay in bed with him instead. Turns out Clint really can sleep through anything. Lazy mornings weren't something Steve had ever had the luxury of experiencing before now, and he was taking full advantage for as long as he could.

Breakfast was usually Sam, or Scott on the days he made it downstairs before the runners got back. Sam could and would make pretty much anything anyone asked for, and Scott was the master of perfectly fluffy scrambled eggs. While Natasha wasn't much of a cook - more out of lack of desire than lack of skill - she made excellent coffee, and did so every single morning without fail. 

The seven of them hanging out in the kitchen was a daily occurrence. Lingering at the table for second and third mugs of coffee, Natasha or Clint perched on the countertop chatting to whoever was doing dishes. 

They had an unofficial 'fend for yourself' rule as far as lunch went, and dinner fell to whoever happened to wander into the kitchen and start cooking something.

At any given moment there was always someone in the third floor gym or sparring in the small garden out back. Scott in particular had taken to these training sessions, learning whatever he could from whoever he could. He was new enough to the job that he hadn't had to face a bad situation without the help of his suit, but spending time with the ex-SHIELD agents on the team made him realize that was something he needed to prepare for.

Natasha and Sharon had taken him under their wing, occasionally pulling Steve and Clint out back with them. Clint acted like it was a chore, but he had more fun than any of them knocking Scott around in the garden. If Scott wasn't training, he could usually be found sprawled out on the den's sofa across from a shockingly patient Natasha, trying his best to master French. His accent was atrocious, but he had a pretty solid grasp of the grammar. 

Having Scott here with them had been a godsend. His unending enthusiasm for pretty much everything was infectious. Like Clint, his mouth had a tendency to get away from him, but Scott had absolutely no filter and no shame. Even Sam seemed shy by comparison. Steve doubted Wanda would have recovered from what had been done to her at The Raft nearly as quickly as she had if it weren't for Scott. 

Out of everyone, Wanda had taken what happened after Leipzig the hardest. She was adamant that she didn't regret leaving with Clint that night, or backing Steve. But being restrained and confined at The Raft had shaken her. Scott and Clint had made making Wanda smile as much as possible their top priority those first few weeks. And their efforts had paid off.

Once Wanda was back to some semblance of her old self, everything else seemed to fall into place. For better or for worse. Their posh manor house quickly took on a first-college-apartment kind of vibe, complete with daily squabbles over who used up all the hot water or left the milk sitting on the counter, whose turn it was to do laundry, and who left their weapons out on the dining room table again.

Maybe that last one wasn't quite college kid behavior, but it was an ongoing problem. The group hadn't had a meal in the dining room since the first night, since by the next morning Natasha, Sam, and Clint had raided Fury's weapons cache and started cleaning and redistributing various firearms around the house.

After that, the dining room had quickly turned into a storage area for their gear. It was the closest unoccupied room to both main floor entrances, so from a logistical perspective it was the best place to stash weapons and go bags. And since the kitchen happened to have a perfectly good butcher block table, no one had any objections.

All things considered, their living situation was starting to feel downright domestic. There were none of Tony's hi-tech enhancements here; no F.R.I.D.A.Y. greeting them as they came through the door, no mission alerts interrupting movie night. Just a bunch of mostly-capable adults looking after one another, in a space that felt as close to home as Steve had been since the day he left for Fort Leigh.

Although, days like today made the place feel more like the army barracks than his old apartment in Brooklyn.

It was January now, and as was typical for this part of France, the day was sunny and mild. Scott was outside with Sharon and Clint, and doing a decent job of fending them both off. Natasha was curled up in one of the patio chairs, flipping through a fashion magazine and shouting the occasional tip to Scott, despite the fact she didn't seem to be paying any attention to the sparring session. Sam and Wanda were at the kitchen table playing Gin, and Sam was losing spectacularly.

"How? How do you keep doing that?" Sam groaned, tossing his cards down on the tabletop. 

"It's not my fault you're terrible at this game," Wanda laughed, gathering up the deck to reshuffle it.

"Why don't you play with Grandpa here for a while? This is more his speed than mine," Sam said, grinning over at Steve.

Steve had been in the middle of making himself a sandwich. He paused, raising an eyebrow at Sam. "You ever gonna get tired of the senior citizen jokes?" he sighed.

"Nope," Sam and Wanda replied in unison.

Steve huffed, more amused than annoyed, and slapped the top slice of bread into place. "I don't have to take this," he said, picking up his plate and carrying it out to the patio. He sat across from Natasha, throwing up a hand to shield his eyes from the sun as he watched Sharon flip Scott onto his back.

Natasha reached across the table and snagged Steve's plate, pulling it close enough to grab the sandwich and take a bite. She made a face. "You use too much mayo," she complained around her mouthful of Steve's lunch.

"Maybe you should go make your own then," Steve suggested dryly. Natasha shrugged, going back to her magazine. Steve wasn't bothered by the redhead's disregard for personal boundaries. Being a pest was how she showed affection. If she was actively trying to irritate you, it meant she liked you. This meant a lot of stolen food and clothes. He was used to it by now. And while he'd certainly never admit it out loud, he was glad for it. 

Despite helping him and Bucky steal the Quinjet, and despite the fact that she was the one who came to him in Wakanda, Natasha had been skittish around Steve for months. It was like the last couple of years had never happened. Like Natasha wasn’t one of Steve's closest friends. 

He didn't know what Tony had said to her the last time the two spoke, but whatever it was had left her rattled. Even Clint found himself being kept at arm's length the first few weeks after The Raft. Despite making it very clear that none of them faulted her for signing, she spent a very long time acting like she needed to earn back their trust. Steve was bitter about a lot of what had happened in the last few years, but seeing Natasha revert back to the walled-off version of herself she'd been before SHIELD fell was especially hard to take.

Steve was in no position to lecture anyone about unhealthy headspaces, so he backed off. And now found himself having to swat her hand away as she tried to steal his lunch again.

"You're a brat, Romanoff."

"You're starting to sound like Barton," she replied, eyeing him over the top of her sunglasses.

"Barton would never have gotten this back in the first place," Steve said, holding up the half-eaten sandwich.

"True," Natasha smirked, turning her attention back to her magazine.

While she would happily tease any one of them, Clint got the worst of it. And he gave it right back to her. They squabbled like siblings, and had a knack for making Steve feel like the ninety-eight year old he technically was. Steve gave up on trying to make them behave very quickly. Aside from it being a futile endeavor, it was a lot more fun to instigate than mediate. 

While Steve did his best to be a responsible leader in the field, he'd never much cared for playing that roll while they were off duty. It was Tony who insisted on parenting the Avengers, and it was a never-ending headache. Besides, Bucky would laugh himself hoarse if he saw Steve trying to be The Adult around here.

And with that, Steve's good mood deflated. 

They were building something good here, despite the circumstances. The team was thriving, and whatever happened next, Steve knew they could handle it. They'd risen out of the ashes left by the Accords and Zemo, and Steve's own mistakes, stronger than ever. These past six months were easily the best he'd had since coming out of the ice. He wasn't a soldier here. He wasn't a hero. He was just Steve.

But everywhere he looked, there was a hole where Bucky should be. Steve would start telling a story, and catch himself waiting for a sarcastic quip that wasn't going to come. When the team congregated in the kitchen, he would instinctively search for Bucky's face among them.

Steve knew he was being ridiculous. There had barely been a handful of days between Bucharest and Wakanda, and most of that time had been chaos and fear and pain. The only time they'd even spoken to each other about something other than Zemo's plans and the Winter Soldier was on the stolen Quinjet headed to Siberia.

It was barely anything, but it had been enough. Looking up in the middle of a fight to see Bucky nearby. Hearing him laugh when Steve brought up Rockaway. Seeing that calm, reassuring smile on his face when he told Steve he needed to go back under. It was just enough for Steve to get used to the idea of having his best friend back. Something good - something _wonderful_ \- in the midst of so much suffering.

More than wanting Bucky to be here with the team, he just wanted Bucky to not be where he was. Injured and broken, so afraid of his own mind that he'd rather surrender himself to a device that was literally straight out of his worst nightmares than risk being around people. He didn't deserve that. He didn't deserve any of it. Bucky should be here, in the empty seat between himself and Natasha, enjoying the fresh air and the warmth of the sun, listening to Scott's ridiculous attempts at smack talk.

Under the table, Natasha's bare foot collided with Steve's shin. He met her concerned gaze, neither of them speaking. She already knew where his mind had gone. Moping about Bucky had become commonplace when Steve was left alone with his thoughts for any length of time, and he was endlessly grateful for how patient everyone was being with him. Especially Sharon.

By far, she was the most unexpected development to come out of all this. The spark he'd felt each time he bumped into "Kate" in their D.C. apartment building had ignited into something Steve honestly didn't believe he was even capable of feeling. The fact that Sharon felt it too was nothing short of miraculous. He'd been hesitant at first, afraid Peggy's ghost would linger over anything they tried to build together. But for all the ways they were alike, Sharon was not Peggy. 

Sharon was soft spoken and laid back, with a delightfully dry sense of humor. As fierce and ambitious as she was compassionate and warm. She'd stood by him, sacrificing her career and her freedom, not because he was Captain America, but because he was Steve. _Because I can't imagine being anywhere else,_ she'd said. And he believed her.

And because of that, because in spite of everything else he'd been granted this one brilliant stroke of luck, he got to wake up next to her every morning. Not even Bucky's absence could put a damper on that.

Natasha nudged him again, the crease between her brows deepening. Steve nudged her back, forcing himself to relax and smile. Beside them, Scott yelped, sailing into the hedge. Clint was crouched down on all fours, grinning smugly as Scott tried to extract himself from the branches. Sharon stumbled back a few steps and dropped awkwardly to the ground, shoulders shaking with silent laughter. 

"Okay, that's… that's not…" Scott sputtered, finally getting his feet back under him. He turned to Clint first, who rocked back on his heels, holding his hands up with an expression that almost passed for innocent. Scott huffed, stomping towards Sharon. She was laughing in earnest now, trying to crawl over to the patio.

"I'm sorry," she wheezed. "It was too perfect! I had to!"

"Uh huh. Sure. If that's how you wanna play this…" Scott grabbed her around the waist, swinging her up over his shoulder in a fireman carry. She let out a squeal, thumping her fists against the small of Scott's back to no avail. Changing tactics, she held her arms out, looking at Steve imploringly. 

Steve smirked, folding his arms and leaning back in his chair. Until he realized Scott was heading for the pond. He debated for a moment before hopping up, breaking into a sprint as he vaulted over the hedge. Sharon's face morphed into relief, until she realized he wasn't slowing down. Her eyes went wide as Steve looped his arms around Scott's middle, digging his heels into the grass just enough to spin them sideways, letting their momentum tip, rather than fling, all three of them into the water.

The pond wasn't very deep, water barely reaching Steve's chest when he stood up. The bottom was slick with algae and mud, making it hard for him to keep his footing. Especially since both Scott and Sharon were trying their damndest to drag him back under. 

They succeeded a few times, but all it really accomplished was guaranteeing that there was now more slimy crap on the three of them than on the pond's bottom. Admitting defeat, Scott awkwardly hauled himself up onto the grass. Steve boosted Sharon onto dry land, and climbed out after with as much dignity as he could muster under the circumstances. Which frankly wasn't much, but at least he got out on the first try, unlike Scott.

"What… the fuck… was that?" Scott panted, flopping onto his back.

"You looked like you needed to cool off," Steve replied. "I was helping."

"Wow. I'm so gonna remember this. You just wait," said Scott, toeing off his ruined sneakers.

Steve propped himself up on his elbows, shaking his head hard enough to spray Scott with muck. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah!" Scott stood up, wringing his shirt out over Steve's head. Steve made a half-hearted grab for his legs, but Scott danced back out of reach, heading straight for Clint. By the time the archer realized he was about to no longer be a spectator, it was too late. Scott tackled him, pinning him in the grass and letting his hair drip all over Clint's face.

There was a lot of yelling and cursing, and when Clint finally knocked Scott off of him he was almost as much of a mess as Scott was. They eyed each other for a long moment, and just when it looked like Clint was about to retaliate, they both clamored over the hedge and converged on Natasha.

"Don't you dare!" she hissed, flinging herself out of her seat and putting the table between her and the two men.

Sharon giggled, combing a clump of mud out of her ponytail with her fingers. "Well, now I definitely need a shower."

"That an invitation?" Steve asked.

"That depends," she replied. "Are you gonna behave yourself?"

"Where's the fun in that?" Steve grinned.

"Good answer." Steve pulled Sharon to her feet, lacing their fingers together and letting her lead him towards the house. 

"What happened?" Wanda asked, eyeing their wet and muddy clothes as they stepped into the kitchen.

"Went for a swim," said Steve.

"Uh huh," said Sam, who was rummaging through the fridge. "And now what are you doing? Besides messing up Fury's hardwood." 

"Getting cleaned up," Sharon replied.

"Take it easy on him, Sharon! If he falls and breaks a hip, I'm not comin' up there to help!" Sam called after them. 

They stopped at the bottom of the stairs. "I'll be right back," Steve said, pressing a quick kiss against Sharon's cheek. Steve came up behind Sam, pinning his arms to his sides and hauling him off his feet.

"Hey!" Sam squawked, thrashing in Steve's grasp. 

Kicking the door open, Steve carried him past a shrieking Scott, who was being sprayed down by Natasha with the garden hose. "Clint! Get his legs!" Clint obliged as Sam began to struggle in earnest.

"Don't do it, man! Don't do it!" Sam hollered. 

They heaved Sam into the pond with a splash that sent water sloshing up over their feet. 

Before Sam had even resurfaced, Steve was already running towards the house. Taking Sharon by the hand, they bounded up the stairs two at a time, Wanda's laughter echoing after them.

"You know he's gonna get you back for that," Sharon said, wiggling out of her soggy sweatpants. 

"Eh. Worth it." Steve peeled off his t-shirt, placing a hand on Sharon's hip and guiding them backwards into the bathroom. "So worth it."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look! An update!
> 
> This series has started to take on a life of its own, and as usually happens when I try to tackle a big writing project, I've been working on these stories out of order. But better late than never, right?
> 
> Unbeta'd, as always.

Steve gasped himself awake, the phantom scent of cordite, sweat, and damp earth making him gag and twisting his stomach up in knots. He wasn't sure where he'd been this time. Mid-firefight, all battlefields looked the same. Chaos and blood and death.

The nightmares were more common than Steve cared to admit. His memories were vivid, a gift from the serum that was more like a curse some days. The war. The train. The Valkyrie. New York. Sokovia. Siberia. Playing like a film reel whenever he closed his eyes.

He took a deep breath, and then another, willing himself to relax. The tight, vaguely nauseous feeling persisted, and Steve fought the urge to curl in on himself until it passed. He hated this part the most. Lying in the dark, mind reeling and heart racing, waiting to see if he would be able to settle enough to go back to sleep. Hoping that if he did, he wouldn't fall right back into the horrors that had woke him up in the first place.

"Steve?" Sharon's voice was a sleepy murmur.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut.

Sharon tucked herself against his side, head resting on his shoulder. She slipped one hand beneath the covers to rub small circles against his stomach, the gentle pressure and warmth soothing away the queasiness. Steve took hold of her wrist so he could brush a kiss against her knuckles. Sharon laced their fingers together, hands settling on Steve's chest.

She didn't ask if he was okay, hadn't since Wakanda. She didn't have to. The answer was always the same. _Not really. But I will be._ This had long since become their routine, and Steve was equal parts grateful and ashamed. He hated that he was helpless to stop the ghosts of his past from haunting him, and he hated that he honestly didn't know if he'd be able to handle the especially bad nights without Sharon.

At least here Steve wasn't the only one who struggled to get a good night's sleep. Wanda's psychic screams would frequently send objects crashing to the floor in the dead of night, and while she was still reluctant to open up to anyone about the things that were haunting her, she was always the first person there to offer her help when someone else needed reassurance.

Natasha and Sam saw a lot of the same ghosts Steve did, but there was an edge of brutality to Natasha's memories that neither soldier could fully understand. Steve suspected that there was more going on with Clint than he was letting on, and it made him glad that the archer had accidentally found himself as Sam's roommate.

Not even Sharon was immune to rough nights from time to time - and Steve had the bruises to prove it. With a handful of deep cover missions under her belt and more than a few harrowing experiences with both SHIELD and the CIA that put her face to face with the very worst of humanity, Steve had played the role of comforter more than once.

It was a bit of a running joke that Scott was the only sane one out of the bunch, sleeping like a rock through all but the most extreme outbursts and offering his teammates a deep well of empathy without ever really understanding where they were coming from. He'd seen his fair share of ugliness in the world, but it hadn't worn him down yet.

The simple truth was that life hadn't been kind to any of them. But they were all learning something Steve had once believed in wholeheartedly but lost faith in somewhere between an underground lab in Brooklyn and a too quiet apartment a few blocks and too many decades away from it; the world was only as cruel as you let it become. All you had to do was keep getting back up, and keep pushing back.

Sleep did find Steve again this time, peaceful and uninterrupted until Sharon rolled him out of bed to join her for breakfast. Tried to, at least. She was half-dressed, pulling her shower-damp hair into a loose braid and nudging Steve with her foot as she fumbled with her hair tie.

"Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty," she teased. "It's almost ten."

"If your plan was to get me out of bed, you're not making a very good argument for that at the moment," he replied, pressing a hand against her bare side in an attempt to bring her closer to the bed. 

Sharon rolled her eyes, moving out of Steve's reach and grabbing a gray t-shirt out of the dresser that stood next to the bathroom door. She pulled the shirt on and turned to face him, arms folded. "Better?" she asked.

"Not the word I'd use."

"Hey, I've already had a workout this morning, and I'm starving."

With a dramatic sigh, Steve shoved the covers off of himself and headed for the bathroom. He thought about showering but decided it could wait until after breakfast. After taking a few minutes to brush his teeth and clean the sleep crud out of his eyes, he swung the bathroom door open with the intention of grabbing a pair of sweatpants to throw on and was surprised to find Sharon still standing exactly where he left her.

"I thought you were starving?"

"I am." She rose up on her toes to give him a short, sweet kiss. "So move your butt."

Steve gently shoved her away from the dresser, digging through their shared pajama drawer for his sweats. While shirts and shoes were optional, one of their few house rules was that pants were required, especially in the kitchen.

Once the team had gotten comfortable with their living arrangements, most of them had proceeded to get a little too comfortable. Steve included. The compound, for all its homey amenities, always felt more like the place Steve worked as opposed to the place where he lived. It was rare to see anyone in any of the common areas less than fully dressed, regardless of the time of day.

That behavior stuck for the first little while, but a summer spent without air conditioning left everyone a little cranky and completely unwilling to wear more clothing than was absolutely necessary. Add to that the morning waits to get into the main bathroom, and any sense of propriety disappeared very quickly. The pants rule was established mostly due to the fact that there were a bunch of grown men living in a house with a teenage girl, despite the fact that Natasha was the worst offender.

Now presentable, Steve and Sharon headed downstairs to fight Clint for the last of the current pot of coffee.

The kitchen was just as noisy and crowded as Steve had come to expect. Wanda was making toast from her spot at the table, using her chaos magic to move slices around and work the toaster's controls rather than fighting for a place in the limited space on that side of the kitchen island. Natasha was in her usual spot on the counter next to the coffeemaker - the only place on the ground floor that offered a clear view of both the back patio and the front door - watching Scott struggle to flip an omelet without dumping the pan's contents all over the stovetop.

With a little help from the redhead, they were able to snag their caffeine fix and settle in at the table with Wanda. Food and the rest of the team joined them not long after, and soon enough Steve found himself alone with a sink full of dirty dishes. He'd waved off Sharon's offer to help, and she'd ended up in the garden with Clint. They both had full mugs of coffee with them when they stepped outside, so how exactly they ended up having what looked like a handstand contest in the middle of the lawn just a few minutes later was a mystery to Steve.

It made for an entertaining sight regardless. Especially when Wanda decided to knock Clint over. Shaking his head, Steve went back to the task at hand. It was his and Sam's turn to head out for supplies, and grocery shopping with Sam was never a short trip. The guy was notoriously picky about his produce and trying to rush him never ended well. Especially since he was still a little testy about the incident with the pond the day before.

Steve knew Sam wasn't actually mad, but retribution was going to come his way eventually. Sam was not someone who's bad side you wanted to find yourself on, and he wasn't known for letting things go. If Steve had to guess, he'd say it was a safe bet he'd be looking his age in the least flattering way possible when they stepped out this afternoon.

As if the house itself wasn't enough, Fury's safety net included access to a very full bank account and a pair of the same programmable digital disguises Natasha had used to sneak into the Triskellion with the World Security Council a few years ago. The cash and the masks meant the team could come and go with relative ease so long as they stuck to the nearby small towns and kept their time away from the house to a minimum. They changed up their disguises each time, never visiting the same place twice in the same month or sending the same pair of people out together.

That last stipulation tended to make some of their supply runs interesting. Sam had put himself in charge of inventory, and his shopping lists were followed to the letter. But that didn't mean no one ever came back with things that weren't on the list. Scott and Natasha found roman candles and sparklers for the Fourth of July, which led to one of the rose bushes going up in flames. It was one of Steve's better birthdays.

The first time Sharon and Wanda went together, they showed up with a crate of records they'd found at a flea market. There was an antique gramophone in the den that Wanda loved to play with, and everyone was grateful to have something to listen to that was both in English and not older than Steve.

Out with Clint one afternoon in early December, Steve had managed to find a small bakery that he'd been to once in his early days with the Howling Commandos. He'd wanted so badly to take off his mask when he realized the elderly man behind the counter was the little boy who'd practically climbed Steve trying to get a better look at the shield on his back. The kid ended up on Dum Dum's shoulders, chatting excitedly with Dernier and Jones while his mother served them coffee and beignets.

Steve settled for spending way too much on pastries and making it a necessary stop for whoever was in the area next. Someday he might be able to come back as himself, but it wasn't something he could risk just yet. It wasn't only his safety at stake.

With the kitchen cleaned up, Steve jumped in the shower and got himself ready. As expected, Sam was waiting for him downstairs with an impressively heinous cardigan and a smug grin.

"Nice pants, Grandpa," said Sam, eyeing the high waist slacks Steve had dug out of the trunk stashed at the back of the master suite closet.

"I had a feeling I'd need 'em," Steve replied with a shrug.

"Aw, you know me so well."

Steve put on the cardigan and the pre-programmed mask and gloves. "It helps that you're kinda predictable."

"Oh really? That's how you wanna play this?" Sam asked, glaring at Steve as he pulled his own mask on.

Steve grinned, grabbing a short gray wig and brown porkpie hat off of the table and ducking out of the dining room to check himself out in the ornate full-length mirror that hung in the hallway leading from the kitchen to the foyer. "That's exactly how I wanna play this. And if you think _I'm_ gonna be the one getting embarrassed in public today?" Wig and hat in place, he turned to face a still-glaring Sam. "You're in for a rude awakening, sonny boy," he said in his best croaky old man voice.

Scott chose that moment to come bounding down the stairs, stopping short at the sight of Steve. He stared for a long moment before sighing deeply and saying, "Of course you can actually pull that look off. I don't know why I'm even surprised."

"Told you, Sam," Natasha called from the den.

Sam tipped his head back, closing his eyes in frustration. Unlike Steve's elaborate getup, Sam's disguise was his usual jeans and t-shirt with a ball cap pulled low over a clean-shaven face with a heavy brow and hollow cheeks. "Can we just go?"

Steve gestured for Sam to lead the way, then proceeded to shuffle slowly after him. Sam grabbed the SUV keys out of the tray on the table by the front door on his way out. He was halfway down the steps when he realized Steve wasn't behind him.

" _Really_?"

Scott and Natasha burst out laughing almost in unison as Steve finally made it to the foyer. The former spy was lounging in the window seat with a book clutched in one hand, the other clapped over her mouth as she tried to compose herself.

"How about a little respect for your elders?" Steve's old man voice came out a little wheezy this time since he was trying to keep from laughing himself. Much to Steve's satisfaction, he realized Sam was struggling to keep it together, too. He kept the shuffling gait up until he reached the top of the stairs, then leaped down the first three steps and snatched the keys out of Sam's hand. "I'm driving!" he called over his shoulder, running full tilt across the lawn to the waiting SUV.

Steve could still hear Natasha laughing when he jumped in the driver's seat and slammed the door shut.

~ ~ ~

Fury's computer was probably the most secure system outside of the Avenger's compound, but caution had Steve limiting access to the encrypted email account Natasha had set up before they left Wakanda to once a day. T'Challa promised to contact Steve the minute he had any kind of update on Bucky, and under any other circumstances he would have been checking the inbox hourly.

Steve knew that finding a solution to the programming problem was going to take time. Probably more time than they had before someone realized where Bucky was. Because of that, Steve had taken a 'no news is good news' stance on the perpetually empty inbox. If T'Challa did reach out, odds are it wouldn't be a message Steve wanted to receive.

Which is why when he signed in shortly after he and Sam had made it back to the house, the sight of a lone new email from three hours ago left him feeling like he'd just been hit in the chest with a sledgehammer.

The memory of the cryo chambers in Siberia came rushing back, the other Winter Soldiers sitting peacefully with a bullet hole in their foreheads. After all these months, Tony couldn't possibly still be that angry. But after all the trouble they'd caused, General Ross probably would be.

Steve opened the message, the _tap_ of his finger against the laptop's trackpad sounding as loud as the gunshot he was trying desperately not to picture.

_Hello Captain,_

_Despite their best efforts to keep the news quiet, I heard your rescue mission was a success. I hope everyone is well, and you've been someplace safe these past months. Again, please offer my sincere apology to your friends._

_I'm writing you with what I hope is good news. First, my team has been successful in rebuilding Barnes' arm. I doubt the procedure to attach it will be pleasant for him, but he won't leave Wakanda unable to protect himself. And with luck, that will happen sooner rather than later. We believe that we've found a way to remove the programming from your friend's mind. The plan is not without significant risks, and I cannot guarantee success. However, the science behind this theory is sound, and I truly believe it is Barnes' best chance. We can discuss the details in person as soon as you are able to return to Wakanda._

_The plan will require the use of the book Barnes was so adamant you take with you. Brush up on your Russian, Captain, and let me know how soon you will be able to leave your current location. If you can make your way here, you have my word that I will return both of you to your team safely when all of this is over._

_T'Challa_

"You alright, Cap?"

Steve jumped, surprised to see Scott standing in the doorway. The concern on Scott's face made Steve wonder what was going on with his. He'd been so fixated on the screen in front of him that he hadn't heard Scott's footsteps. "Yeah," he said, voice sounding dazed even to his own ears. "I just…"

"He finally reached out." Scott was standing beside him before Steve could manage a reply. "Good news, or bad news?" he asked, squeezing Steve's shoulder.

Steve gestured wordlessly at the laptop, inviting Scott to see for himself.

"This is great!" Scott grinned. "This is what you've been waiting for, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Of course. It's just not the news I was expecting."

"Hey, good things do happen from time to time," Scott said gently. "And after everything you guys have been through? You deserve some good. Both of you."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Steve sighed. "Nothing is for sure yet."

"Email the cat man back. I'll round everyone up downstairs. Let them know there's news." Scott paused, frowning. "Unless you'd rather keep this to yourself for now?"

"No. They need to know I'll be leaving." Steve clicked reply, opening a new message window. "Thanks, Scott."

"You got it." Scott smiled, tapping his knuckles against the top of the desk and ducking out of the room without another word.

Steve kept his response brief, promising to check in again in a couple of days to let the king know when he could expect Steve's arrival. With just him traveling, getting out of France shouldn't be much of an issue. Getting Natasha to help him work out the code words he was not looking forward to using shouldn't be a problem, either.

Reaching Bucky would be the easy part. What would happen after that was anyone's guess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise there is A LOT more to come...

**Author's Note:**

> Looks like this will be two, maybe three chapters. Next part should be up in a day or two.


End file.
